


i feel your love (loud and clear)

by hicsvntdracones



Series: iwaoi week [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Crossdressing, Drinking, Fist Fights, IwaOi Week, M/M, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, stupid boys in love, ugly oikawa tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hicsvntdracones/pseuds/hicsvntdracones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the first time to run to your best friend's house at 3AM when he can't breathe from the panic, the first time he kisses you with that new chapstick that you only sort of hate, the first time you show up to his place and he's wearing a floral patterned skirt and hair extensions, the first time he leaves you with a black eye and the silence stretches on between you two for weeks, the first time you tell him no in all honestly because you can't bear to drown your sorrows in sex, the first time you have way too much fun at a party together and he has to rub your back as you're hunched over a toilet, and the first time you're apart in over ten years and the distance never seemed so damn far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i feel your love (loud and clear)

  
It's three in the morning when Oikawa's chest gets too tight. They darkness of his room seems to seep into his skin and there's a set of invisible hands that have broken his rib cage only to clutch his lungs and steal away his breath. He's used to the lack of air, he's used to the heartbeat filling his ears, he's used to it all. He reaches for the phone without knowing. He can't feel anything except how there's not enough air, not nearly enough.

He considers that he may actually be having a heart attack at fifteen when Iwaizumi appears in the doorway in a hoodie haphazardly thrown on in the rush over. It's three in the morning, and the light streaming in from the hallway is too bright.

"Oikawa? Oikawa, what is it? Are you okay?" Iwaizumi barely thinks to whisper. He doesn't care about what hour it is, doesn't care about waking his friend's parents, not when Oikawa is bent in half clutching his shirt so hard with his face hidden against his knees. He crouches immediately in front of the bed but doesn't dare touch the other.

" _Tooru_?" He calls, soft but steady as ever. Oikawa's head snaps up and the eyes that greet him are filled with absolute terror. Before Iwaizumi can react, Oikawa grabs hold of the hand he's laid cautiously on the bed and grips hard enough to hurt. The tightness in his chest grows at the thought that Iwaizumi will yank his hand away, but he squeezes back, forces the wince away and leans only a hint closer to whispers _I'm here_. He coaxes Oikawa into unfolding himself and sitting upright, tells him to squeeze his hands as hard as he needs, counts to four as an inhale then six to exhale. Eventually, he lapses into silence as Oikawa's chest rises in sync with his own measured breathing. Four, then six. Four, then six. It's three in the morning, and Iwaizumi doesn't let go of his hand.

.

"Hey, don't take a break from practice for that, dumbass!" Iwaizumi hisses as he jogs up to Oikawa to retrieve a stray ball. He's obsessive lately about applying and reapplying his chapstick whenever he thinks about it. It started as a method of quitting his habit of biting his lips, but Iwaizumi regrets suggesting it now. Oikawa caps the tube of spearmint chapstick and sets it next to his water bottle and towel before returning to the court, but not without making a kissing face and laughing,

"You're just jealous you don't have lips like mine." The taunt leaves Iwaizumi fuming until they practice spike drills, where he pours his energy into every drive and winds up breathless by the time they're allowed a break. He's chatting enthusiastically with a third-year when Oikawa saunters over to pick up his bottle. With a smile, the ace excuses himself and leaves Iwa with Oikawa who's surprisingly quiet. He thinks maybe the couch or captain reprimanded Oikawa for something and turns to see, no, he's simply applying more chapstick.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Iwa-chan." Oikawa pouts, and purses those lips of his. Iwaizumi makes a point to roll his eyes even more this time around which results in only more pouting. Oikawa comes to stand horribly close, too close for the heat that the spiker feels despite wiping away as much sweat as he can. Eventually, Oikawa figures out that Iwaizumi's not having any of it today, but smiles anyway.

"You looked good in those last runs." He says without a hint of sarcasm and quickly pecks Iwa on the lips. When he tries to leave, he's yanked back in for another quick kiss. Iwaizumi's red as he turns away and Oikawa laughs, blushing, as he jogs away. The setter's lips were a cool breath to calm an exhausting practice, and Iwa decides the chapstick habit isn't the worst to have.

.

He thinks maybe he wandered into the wrong room, maybe Oikawa has a cousin or something over, so he immediately turns in embarrassment when he sees the girl tucking her shirt in. It's their first year of high school, but not the first year of friendship, and Iwaizumi thought he knew Oikawa's family well. Swallowing hard, Iwaizumi realizes horribly that he's still very much attracted to girls as he is boys, and frankly Oikawa's cousin was hot. When he calls out a quick apology, the girl laughs the same as his best friend.

"Iwa-chan? Turn around." That, Iwaizumi knows, was definitely no cousin's voice. That _palpable_ humor in his voice is so very very Oikawa. He pivots immediately and — oh. Definitely not a cousin. Oikawa's standing in front of a full-length mirror, twisting to see himself from different angles as he grins to himself. A blue skirt falls from his waist to his thighs with white florals to match the white blouse he's donned and — those are definitely breasts, but Iwaizumi's seen Oikawa shirtless enough in the locker room to figure it must be padding. The killer is that it's the same face he loves, but surrounded by matching brunettes swirls of hair that reach far past his shoulders. He stares and stares before Oikawa snickers and yanks his attention back.

"If you leave your mouth open, you'll catch flies." Iwaizumi snaps his mouth shut into a scowl, but it doesn't stay for long. He crosses the room when beckoned and up close, Oikawa won't meet his gaze for more than a few seconds which makes Iwaizumi realize he's nervous. His hands are flattening his skirt repeatedly and — oh. _Oh_.

"You're beautiful." He blurts out. Something, anything to reassure Oikawa he doesn't think he's a freak or weird or anything. Oikawa's still and shocked face forces Iwaizumi to repeat himself, slower and more pointed so that the other knows he meant it. Really, honestly meant it. The face-splitting grin that possesses Oikawa is so breathtaking that Iwaizumi immediately captures his lips with his own. He feels himself get hot all over, embarrassed but not only that. Oikawa's hands snake their way around Iwa's neck as he presses closer, deeper into the kiss which merits a quick response. It's hot and demanding, but sweet at the same time and it comforts him. Confidently, Oikawa breaks away for a moment to ask if he can keep the skirt, to which Iwaizumi simply kisses him harder and when Oikawa feels his sturdy hand moving to brush up the skirt, he figures the answer is yes.

.

Hanamaki realizes something's wrong when Oikawa enters the gym alone one morning. He sits a few feet from Matsukawa to stretch and makes idle conversation, for once, about the other second year's studies, girlfriend. Idle chatter, and it dies immediately when Iwaizumi arrives. Watari makes the mistake of acknowledging the violet blossom on his cheekbone, to which Iwaizumi coldly tells him to mind his own business. Oikawa watches silently and Iwaizumi never turns his head.

They go through the drills, their captain directing them with the everyday ease, but the teammates glance between one another, between the two best friends. When Oikawa tosses flawlessly to the ace and he slams the ball down on the other side of the court, they don't congratulate nor compliment one another, not even the slightest sass. The day and its classes crawl by, slower and slower than practice had. Iwaizumi never looks up from his textbook, a stream of words pouring from his pen but not one spoken aloud. Oikawa turns down a girl at lunch without any apology and leaves the moment she begins to cry.

When evening practice comes, the bruise on Iwaizumi's cheek has aged to a violent purple with streaks of red closer to his eye, meanwhile the subtler injury on the setter's jaw has become startlingly apparent. They go through the motions just like that morning, drills then individual practice then a scrimmage. Oikawa does the unthinkable when the scrimmage teams are announced and asks to sit out, claiming his knee as an excuse. They substitute Watari in and no one dares comment about how determined Iwaizumi seems to nail every spike that's thrown his way, perfect or not. For two weeks, they carry on this way, silent and static with hardly even a glance. Every evening when the captain calls an end to practice, Oikawa stays behind in haunting silence. Iwaizumi keeps his face turned away, pointedly making small talk with Matsukawa and never mentioning the setter's name. Even when they finish collecting their duffels from the club room and Yahaba quietly says that Oikawa's still in the gym, Iwaizumi doesn't say a single thing.

.

They're both bone dead exhausted, but Oikawa cries anyway. Iwaizumi is too tired to cry, his eyes are dry and frankly, he feels numb. Every muscle in him aches and he knows he overworked himself, so has no doubts about the pain Oikawa's in. The whistle blowing echoes in his head. Two to zero, Shiratorizawa's win. He stares at the blank television screen until there's a noise. Oikawa's alarm clock is halfway across the room, and if not for the cord, would've likely hit Iwaizumi himself. The brunette's glaring through the tears and he remembers.

"Sorry." He whispers before walking as quickly as his leadden feet will carry him to the kitchen to retrieve the ice packs. When he returns, Oikawa's quieted down a bit, but his cheeks are still wet and Iwaizumi doesn't comment at all. He won't pity him, won't pity their team and the effort they made out on the court today. They threw everything they had at the finals match, but it wasn't enough. The ace manuevers Oikawa's legs on the bed so that he can prop up his knee. His breath hitches and he bites back the instinct to snap at Iwa for jostling his knee to much. It isn't Iwaizumi's fault, he tells himself, it's simply how badly his knee is injured. The ice is a stark relief against the swelling, and within a few minutes, Oikawa sits up and motions for Iwaizumi to sit with him. They wind up kissing, and Iwaizumi knows it's because he can't stand to see Oikawa crying, and all he tastes is desparation. There's a pressing need, a need to touch and be comforted and Iwaizumi sinks quickly into Oikawa's grasp. He's numb, but the ache is still there. Oikawa's fumbling to yank up his shirt, cold hands against cool skin and there's nothing there. Iwaizumi feels numb.

"Hajime, please —" The plea sounds far away, and Iwaizumi pushes himself away from it. Oikawa looks at him like he's just said something awful, and Iwaizumi thinks maybe he has. He tells Oikawa no often, probably every day, but he's never said no like this. He turns away from the kiss and, frozen, looks anywhere but his lover's eyes. Oikawa yanks Iwaizumi's face to meet his, kisses him again frantically, pours all of his grief into the kiss but receives nothing in turn. Iwaizumi pulls away, rests his head on Oikawa's shoulder and whispers _sorry_. There's arms around him and a weight on his shoulder, then a distinct wet feeling and the sound of sobs that continues for longer than Iwaizumi can say.

.

Sometime between the second strong beer bringing the tiniest buzz and the girl with sun-colored hair standing on the couch and cracking open the fourth vodka, they lose themselves. Iwaizumi doesn't remember why he's here, only that Oikawa's friends were talking incessantly about a party the other day and now, he's holding a bottle of tequila around the neck as Oikawa takes shot number ... something. The music is horrible in his tastes, but Oikawa's swaying with a grin that could light the world so he doesn't care. Images flash in odd sequences, there's a brunette with a red skirt and bright lips who kisses him fiercely, Oikawa's hands firm and demanding on his hips, the tequila bottle somehow being pressed into his chest to accept, he swears the guy shotgunning a beer is Matsukawa, but he doesn't remember seeing him come to the party. Oikawa's back is to him, Iwaizumi's hand pressed possessively on his lower stomach as they sway in time with the heavy beats. His whole body is hot and he breathes against Oikawa's ear, desire's the only thing on his mind.

Next, Oikawa's sitting on the table and he's yanking his collar down to expose his perfect, marked collarbone. He calls to Iwaizumi who settles easily between his legs, two hands running up his thighs. He kisses, too soft for the amount of wanting, but then runs his tongue along the crook of his neck. Suddenly, there's salt that he doesn't remember, too distracted by what Iwaizumi definitely thinks is silver hair and a beauty mark somewhere behind Oikawa. Oikawa kisses him, passion coursing through them and the music's even louder when they're here in the middle of a gawking, cheering crowd. Breathless, Oikawa leaves his lips behind and places a wedge of lime between his teeth, grin ever there. Iwaizumi dips to lick away the salt, tasting skin and sting and then the tequila's past his lips and then Oikawa's there again with the bitter lime. The people around him go insane, and the bass beats loudly in his bones.

Sometime between the body shots and the toilet seat, Iwaizumi thinks he should've stopped drinking long ago. It's not the first time he's gotten his hands on alcohol with Oikawa, not the first party they've been to, but it's the only time he's ever been so far gone. In between the haze and the swirling white tiles, Iwaizumi feels the lurching and he's hunched over again before it's too late. There's a hand pressed warm against his back, the only thing grounding him. He groans horribly and spits up the remaining whatever into the toilet before flushing and turning away so not to watch the whirling mess. Oikawa's hair is mussed up and there's only a hint of laughter in the smile he's wearing.

He doesn't remember much after that, only that he hurls maybe two or four times more and there's always a water bottle nearby for Oikawa to offer. He can still hear the music distantly, the beat rumbles through the house even to whatever bathroom they're holed up in. There's circles on his back and time slips away from him, muttering _thanks, Tooru_ as swishes water through his mouth to try and feel better soon. When he wakes up the next day at half past two in the afternoon, Oikawa's wrapped carefully around him with water bottles on the bedside and a trashcan by the bed as a precaution. He notices he's changed clothes and hides a smile against the pillow despite the loud, pounding ache in his head.

.

The apartment seems too big and yet too small all the same. One of his roommates is too loud but cooks well, and the other's like a ghost, a cleanly one. They all flow in and out of the flat and the only arguments are about grocery shopping, and those are more like moderately frustrated discussions than anything. There's not a lot of sass, not a lot of snapping, and Iwaizumi doesn't know quite how to function here. His classes are going well, the textbooks are easy enough to fight through and the lectures are more interesting than people tend to say. It's intense, and Iwaizumi thrives on that, having sought for years to attend one of the top universities in the country.

He had always aimed high since he wasn't from a particular rich family, and he always figured he'd want to get away from Miyagi. Tokyo's too big, too empty without Oikawa next to him. There's no morning greeting on the way to school, there's no quick kisses between classes, there's no snippy but love-filled remarks at practice. He attends classes, studies, sleeps. There's eating when he remembers, which is fairly regular, but he feels like he's just drifting through every day. It's empty, until his cellphone rings shrilly and then —

"Hello?" Iwaizumi says hurriedly, sitting up ramrod straight in his desk chair and then there's the laugh and he relaxes again.

"Iwa-chan, you sound so excited." The voice on the other end is calm and sweet, but there's a note of sadness somewhere under the honey. He feels a tug in his chest, the pull of missing his best friend, his love. Iwaizumi settles back and flips his laptop closed.

"I've missed you." It's a fact, as plain as saying that it was Tuesday afternoon. In all their years, they'd never been apart for so long, and even though they're both in Tokyo, it's not easy to take a train to see one another when studies are weighing down on them. He likes to think that Oikawa smiles at that remark, and a few moments later, he echoes it back.

"I've missed you too." It's three in the afternoon in Tokyo, and Iwaizumi knows he can set aside some time for the call. He closes his eyes and listens to Oikawa ramble about that terrible professor of his. He imagines Oikawa on his bed, smiling bright as he retells his day and twines their hands together. The city is vast, but at least for now, they know that like this, they can last.

 


End file.
